The End Of The Tour

The date: Tuesday, the 28th day of August, 2007. It was Day 101 of the tour. I'm smiling because I'm happy. I had made it! Yorktown! The eastern terminus of the TransAmerica Trail! I was finally there.


The Yorktown Victory Monument. This is technically where the TransAmerica Trail ends or begins.















A young boy took this photo. He was visiting the monument with his family. I talked with the boy and his family. I told them about my summer. They couldn't believe that I had just finished riding my bike across the country. They considered Astoria, Oregon--the place where I started biking--to be half a world away.

I looked down at my odometer and told them it was only 4,273 miles away.



















I stood there as the setting sun blasted away at the cold stone of the monument. I stood there looking to the east and feeling good. I thought about all the other cyclists who had paused here before me. Westbound cyclists who were just starting out. Eastbound cyclists who like me were finishing their journey. I lingered for a while, outlasting several sets of tourists that came and took photos, and then left. I stayed there, happily hanging on to the last moments of my tour. I stayed until I was ready to leave, and then I left.

I rode over to Grace Episcopal Church and found this house, which is the house that TransAm riders are allowed to stay at. I went down to the house, and opened the door, and was pleasantly surprised to find Dave, Brian, and Roger, my friends from England. It had been over a week since we had seen each other. They had arrived at the house on the previous day, completing their journey from San Francisco to Yorktown. It was great to see the Englishmen and to share an evening of celebration with them. There was, after all, a lot to celebrate. We were all thankful for a long and safe tour. And we were very thankful for the kind people we had met along the way, the people that fed and sheltered us and gave us words of encouragement.

I went to bed that night thinking about some of places I had slept: campgrounds and living rooms, parks and churches, backyards and motels. I thought about my sister Janice, my wonderful traveling companion. I thought about her smile. I wondered how things were going for her. I wondered when I'd see her. I thought about my family and friends--I was excited to see them too. I closed my eyes and felt the swirling air of the ceiling fan. Out of the darkness a picture came into focus. I saw the glowing green--the living green--of big healthy leaves. It had been two days since my last tree sampling, but my mind was still able to conjure up images of leaves. I could see the 9 long fingers of the mockernut hickory. And standing there beside the mockernut were the familiar forked leaves of the tulip poplar. These were leaves that I had stared at over and over for the last couple weeks. Leaves that seemed to follow me as I traveled from state to state. The leaves turned into trees. And the trees blew and swayed with the breezes of my mind. I felt Sleep's soft cloak brush by me. A leaf fell from the tulip poplar and floated down to the road. I was the leaf and then I was the road and then I was back to being me. I was back on my bike, back in the saddle one last time, rolling slow and following the endless road as it plunged on into eternity, into the days of my past and into the dreams of my night.